Dancing Like Kings
by only.a.small.fish
Summary: Hating parties and dancing really isn't something you just do as the crown prince. Especially when a phantom asks you to dance.


**This was originally supposed to be for the 30 Day OTP challenge, but I came up with a better idea for day 20 (dancing). So I had this sort of lying around and I've really been wanting to post it. It's set in the late Victorian/early Edwardian era, but I've probably taken quite a few artistic liberties.**

* * *

"Your Highness, your father is requesting your presence."

Prince Legolas groaned. He loathed his father's parties. Nothing but the same stuffy old rich people; the same questions; the same answers. The only thing that ever changed was the style of the ladies dresses. This one would be no different.

He would don his best swallowtail coat and adorn himself with one of his many pairs of French cufflinks, imported silk kid-gloves and a heavy set gold pocket watch to slip in and out of his pocket at opportune times when he needed to look intellectual.

The rich women would simper and pat his arm, saying how much he looked like his dashing father; their husbands asking boring questions about his plans for his inheritance or about how charming he thought cricket was. The young ladies would titter and giggle, waving their feathered fans in front of blushing faces like flocks of corseted birds, much to the chagrin of their finely dressed fiancees and beaus.

His father would drink copious amounts of champagne and wine, along with many of his friends and close business partners but would still be able to hold his liquor. A talent borne out of many years of practice.

He would come and praise his precious prince's achievements, bragging on and on about pointless, mindless things that meant nothing to Legolas. They would applaud him and he would be forced to smile bashfully and humble himself over things that he would rather forget about.

And then there would be the dancing. Oh how he hated the dancing. The twirling, the touching, the fluttering young ladies whom he held no interest in. But he would have to pretend to. He would have to lie through his teeth to every Mary, Caroline and Beatrice about 'how wonderfully enchanted I am to be dancing with you tonight miss.' And each one would blushed and believe that he truly meant his words, that he flirted with them and only them. They would be flustered and step accidentally on his feet; they would try and look him in the eye; they would wear corsets too small for them; shoes too tall for them; dresses cut too low. All of this and he was expected to grant each one with her own special performance.

But it was routine. As the crown prince he was expected to be charming, to be dashing, to be the divine image of masculine perfection. God damn it all! Why couldn't he be goofy? Why couldn't he roll around in the grass with the stable boys? Why did he need to meet pointless women? The prince seized a lamp, his knuckles turning white. He raised it above his head. Why did he always have to be so PERFECT?!

"Your Highness?" Worriedly, the valet outside his chamber door started at the loud smash that emitted from the prince's quarters. "Is everything alright?"

Legolas shut his eyes, pairing them with an impatient sneer as he balled his fists and inhaled deeply. He cursed internally, but calmed his heated features and painted himself with his best flustered expression.

"Oh Lindir, I'm so sorry!" he exclaimed, opening the door in a flurry. The servant spotted the smashed lamp upon the carpet immediately. "I've had an accident."

"My prince! Are you injured?" the servant asked quickly, taking Legolas' hands in his own and inspecting every inch of the soft skin. Legolas shook his head.

"No," he said. "But I must help you clean up my foolish folly!" he insisted hastily. Lindir shook his head defiantly.

"Absolutely not! What would I do if the prince cut himself cleaning something under my charge?" the valet exclaimed, more of a statement rather than a question. Legolas was about to protest, but the servant interrupted him before he could begin.

"I shall ring for a maid to clean it up," he reassured. "But first we must get you dressed. The king is not often a patient man." The valet closed the bedroom door behind them and steered the prince to his dressing room.

"But-"

"Ah ah. Cleaning is no task for a prince," Lindir said with a tone of finality, as if it settled the matter. Legolas looked guiltily over his shoulder at the scattered remnants of the glass lamp. He really did feel bad about breaking it; it had been a pretty lamp.

"Into the bath," Lindir instructed, gesturing to the steaming water at the far end of the prince's vast dressing room. Thranduil insisted that his son wear only the latest of men's fashion and payed great expenses in purchasing garments from all over the globe. Legolas did like clothing, and he was fond of looking nice; but he was a little embarrassed of his father treating him like a doll.

"I'll take that."

Legolas passed his nightshirt that he had just shed to the waiting hand of his valet. He turned and took a ribbon from a small box seated on a table next to the creamy bath, reaching up to tie his long hair into a messy bun. After checking the temperature of the water, the prince slid into the water; feeling the hot, gentle caress wash over his body.

With a sigh, he closed his eyes and placed his head against the awaiting pillow at the crown of the bath. He heard Lindir kneel down with his tray and smiled contentedly as the servant began to massage his feet with a soapy cloth. The anger he had felt before still lingered, but for now, he pushed it away and slipped into a calm bliss.

* * *

"Introcucing, the lovely Prince Legolas!"

Legolas smiled grandly as the room filled with applause. His father was at his side, holding his hand lightly as they came down the steps of the palace's great ballroom. Thranduil smiled proudly at his son, Lindir had done an excellent job of dressing up the fair prince.

"You look wonderful my son," he said fondly. "I shall have to remember to give Lindir a raise."

Legolas chuckled softly. "He does have a way with textiles, I will say," he said, waving a hand over his gentlemanly attire.

Lindir had chosen to dress him in a deep blue coat adorned with silver decorations that was so long it nearly trailed on the ground. Along with it, a silvery waistcoat with glittering embroidery; tight black trousers and an incredibly ruffled lacey cravat that paired perfectly with the waterfall of lace that made up his cuffs. Long shimmering hair was pulled back loosely into a low-set bow tied with a ribbon of a blue so dark it was almost black.

Thranduil let his son's hand go as they reached the bottom of the steps. "I shall not keep you," he said smoothly. "There are many young women who are fainting to dance with you. I've already had three sent up to couches." he teased. Legolas stifled the urge to roll his eyes.

"I have shall also have to send for extra brandies," the king murmured to him. "It is not only the young ladies whose eyes you have caught." Legolas stared incredulously at his father as the fair king disappeared into the crowd with a knowing wink. Surely his father wasn't implying that -

"Prince Legolas, have you seen a ghost?" Legolas was shaken from his momentary revelation by a smooth, feminine voice. He turned and found himself in the presence of Princess Arwen, daughter of Elrond who ruled their sister kingdom.

"My Lady Arwen!" he exclaimed, taking her gloved hand into his own and planting a kiss onto the back. The princess was used to such greetings, and did not seemed flustered when touched by the lips of the prince.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing the princess privately with no escort?" Legolas asked. Arwen smiled with an amused air.

"I simply thought it seemed fitting for the two heirs to share the first dance," she said casually, waving her fan about her.

 _Ugh, dancing._

"Of course," Legolas said, bowing respectfully. He rose at the exact moment that the music started. He offered his arm to the princess.

"Shall we?"

The two of them stepped gracefully onto the dance floor and took to each other's arms. They waltzed elegantly around the ballroom; knowing every step, every movement and performing them precisely, exactly. They knew the steps to every song off by heart, memorized from long grueling hours of dance class. They fit perfectly. Many amongst the audience watching the dancers nodded knowingly to each other. Sooner or later their fathers would have them married, to merge their kingdoms to form one great monarchy.

"Two such gorgeous people are bound to produce beautiful offspring," one old monarch muttered to her friend who agreed with a look and a flutter of her feathered fan.

With a final twirl, the dance ended. Gentlemen bowed to their partners who returned with a dainty curtsy.

"It was a pleasure to dance with you my prince," Arwen said as she curtsied. Legolas smiled.

"Allow me to return the compliment your Highness. It was as if dancing with a swan," he replied, kissing her hand one more time. At that moment, the twin Princes, Elladan and Elrohir appeared and urged her to come away with them.

"Arwen! You'll never believe who's here!" Elladan said excitedly.

"Who?"

Elrohir whispered something hastily into her ear. She gasped.

"Oh, Legolas you'll have to excuse me." He nodded as she smiled apologetically and was whisked away by her brothers.

They both knew in their hearts that they would one day marry. They were not deaf to the whisperings of the courtiers and servants. Ever since Celebrían had birthed a baby girl, the kingdoms knew it was destiny that the two children were to be married once Arwen came of age.

Legolas still vaguely remembered being introduced to the squirming pink baby that all rumored was to be his future wife. Even at the age of three, he knew what was in store for him and although their fathers had never confirmed the matter, he knew as well as Arwen did that they would be wed. It was their duty.

He loved Arwen, he truly did. But as a sister. They had grown up side by side and thought of each other as siblings. They had actually believed that they were until, laughing, Elrond and Thranduil had told them that they were in fact not related in the slightest.

Legolas would marry Arwen, but they both knew that they would never love each other. They would merge and birth children so that their kingdom would live on, but no love would truly be shared between them as it should between two married souls.

The prince had not realized that his thoughts had caused him to wander. He was awoken from his thoughtful state when the cool air of the night enveloped his face. Without knowing, he had slipped out of the party and onto a balcony far off to the west wing.

Glancing behind him, he looked back into the ballroom where countless maidens were crowded in a corner, searching frantically around the room for something. Him surely. With a groan, he shut the door behind him and stepped out onto the balcony. He would have to return to the party at some point, but for now, he could enjoy the peace and quiet of solitude.

Unfortunately, it did not last for long. Shortly after he had embraced the loveliness of silence, the balcony door creaked open and shut. He was rather annoyed now and whirled around heatedly, prepared to shoo of a maiden coming with hopes of a dance. But the person standing at the entrance to the balcony was everything he was not expecting.

A handsome young man stood facing him, holding a tray with a plate of food and two glasses of champagne. He started slightly, for he was not expecting the prince to have noticed him yet and seemed rather concerned, whether for himself or the nobleman in front of him, Legolas did not know. What he did know, however, was that all of the frustration from just moments before had dissipated along with his resentment and had been replaced with both curiosity and a feeling he did not recognize.

Before him was the most dashingly attractive man he had ever graced his eyes upon in his entire existence. His dark brown hair was tied back in an elegant twist that fell in gorgeous curls over his broad, muscular shoulders. He sported a highly fashionable whisper of a beard. It contrasted wonderfully with the cerulean blue of his jacket and the golden tasseled epaulets. Although his body was breathtakingly manly and strong, Legolas felt drawn to the grey eyes that were set in the beautiful face of this man. There was something, familiar about them.

He desperately felt the need to say something, but the words would not come. He was extremely thankful that the young man chose to speak first.

"Are you...alright your Highness?" His voice was ever so deep.

 _Y es. Yes, so very alright. So alright that I've forgotten how to breathe._

"O-oh, yes," Legolas stuttered. He mentally cursed himself; princes were not supposed to stutter. But the young man did not seem to mind. He stepped forward and set down his tray on the stone ledge of the balcony.

"Good. I noticed that you seemed rather troubled," he said looking at the prince with a smile.

 _Dear lord. The angels must be singing._

The young man suddenly seemed to remember himself and an embarrassed expression became evident on his handsome features.

"I'm terribly sorry. It is not my place to be asking such questions," he said quickly. "And do forgive me yet again for not introducing myself. I am Prince Aragorn II, adopted son of King Elrond."

"Aragorn?" Legolas stared at him in bewilderment. "But, Prince Aragorn is at college," he said and shortly after realized how incredibly stupid his remark had sounded. The prince in front of him smiled and allowed a small chuckle.

"Yes, but now he has finished his education and finds himself in the presence of the fair Prince Legolas who does not seem to remember him."

Legolas was confused. He had never seen this man before in his life. He knew Arwen had a third brother, but he did not remember ever meeting him. The topic of the 'Missing Prince' often came up in conversations, but Legolas was always told that he was studying abroad.

"I'm very sorry, but I cannot place a memory in which you appear your Highness," Legolas said. He felt rather ashamed of himself, although he wasn't sure why. Aragorn laughed lightly.

"As it would be expected. We have met once before, you were but a babe tugging at your father's hair," he explained. "I will say that I only remember because the cake they served at your naming ceremony was nothing short of ambrosia to a two year old."

Now it was Legolas' turn to laugh. It was a lovely sound.

"That would explain why I feel like I know you," he said. Aragorn beamed.

"And I you. Had there not been the announcement when you arrived, I would not have recognized the lovely young prince to be the crying loaf of bread I met as a boy."

Legolas was strangely flattered.

"You are most charming with your compliments Prince Aragorn," he teased. Aragorn smiled and turned to lean against the balcony ledge next to where he had placed the tray. Legolas' attention was pulled towards the odd thing that Aragorn had brought with him.

Along with the two glasses, there was a variety of pastries and sweets adorning the plate. Strangely, everything was in pairs.

"Why do you have two of everything?" Legolas asked without thinking. Before he could correct himself and apologise for being so rude, Aragorn responded with no hesitation.

"I brought extra," he stated simply.

"Why?"

"You looked troubled."

Aragorn looked down at his plate and chose one of the sugared biscuits. He held out the cookie in its little paper boat and offered it to the confused prince in front of him. Hesitantly, Legolas took it and nibbled a small bite off the corner of the rectangular cookie. He was shocked to discover a taste he loved more than anything spreading across his tongue.

"Shortbread! This is my-"

"Favourite," Aragorn finished for him. Legolas looked at him incredulously. No one knew that. No one other than Arwen.

"My sister told me," Aragorn supplied. He did not look for a response from the dumbfounded prince. Rather, he looked to the plate once more and popped the biscuit's twin into his mouth with satisfaction. Legolas was slightly appalled at how this man ate. Aragorn noticed this.

"There is no one about but us. You do not need to keep hiding behind that serene princely mask that you wear." he said calmly. Legolas flushed and glared at him. In response to the remark, he shoved the entire cookie into his face and chewed in a very un-gentlemanly manner. Aragorn stared at him in astonishment before bursting into loud laughter.

"Whatsh sho funny?" Legolas demanded, his mouth still full of shortbread. This only made Aragorn laugh harder. Legolas stared at his mirthful face angrily as he struggled to swallow the gob of pastry in his mouth. When he did manage to, his reward of breath was immediately stolen by a hacking cough that sprang forward. He clutched his sides as air was forced unceremoniously from his lungs.

"Stop laughing!" he cried as another cough shot from his throat. Aragorn was wiping tears from his eyes when he reached for one of the glasses of champagne.

"Would you like a drink?" he chuckled, holding the flute out for him. Legolas seized the glass and tipped the fizzy golden drink into his mouth. He cringed as the bubbly alcohol burnt its way down his tightly strained throat. It took him a moment to regain his composure, but when he did, he launched on Aragorn.

"It wasn't funny!" he exclaimed, highly offended. Aragorn sighed as one last chuckle escaped his lips.

"You didn't see your face," he replied smugly. Legolas slapped his arm. Aragorn looked at him in amazement.

"That wasn't very princely of you," he stated, shocked. Legolas smirked.

"And who was it that told me to shed my 'princely mask'?"

"The same gentleman who is about to ask you to dance."

Legolas was taken aback. He stared in shock at the young prince extending his arm to him.

"I b-beg your pardon?"

"You heard me correctly. I'm asking you to dance."

"But...but we are both male. It would be improper," Legolas said, denying himself more than Aragorn. The dark haired man took Legolas' hand suddenly and drew the prince close.

"You just nearly choked on a cookie to prove a point and washed it down with an entire flute of champagne in one swig. I do not think that this would be something to classify as 'improper' after that marvelous display of monarchy," he said, smirking. Legolas' eyes widened and he felt his cheeks burn.

"I don't like dancing," he said quietly.

"That's because you've never danced," Aragorn returned, placing Legolas' hand on his shoulder. Legolas was befuddled. Of course had danced before; it was why he loathed it so much.

"Just moments ago I was dancing with your sister."

"You've never danced with someone you _wanted_ to dance with." Aragorn put a large hand on Legolas' waist, sending a shiver up his spine that echoed out into every part of the prince's body.

"I felt that," Aragorn whispered, his face dangerously close and taking Legolas' other hand in his own. Legolas found himself blushing something silly like one of the girls inside the ballroom.

"But we haven't any music."

"We don't need any music."

And Legolas soon found that they didn't. All the world seemed to fall away while he was in prince Aragorn's arms. They waltzed like butterflies, flitting to and fro gracefully and shyly but not without a beautiful flair. Around and around the balcony, with dips and twirls, jumps and spins.

They began to gather an audience behind the glass doors, but they were oblivious to the gaze of the guests.

Aragorn placed both hands on Legolas' waist and lifted the fair prince into the air, spinning him aloft before bringing him down and holding him close in his arms. Legolas looked up into the deep grey eyes of the prince and, without a word, something between them was mutually understood. Something new, so bright and shining that nothing outside of their arms was real. For they only knew one thing in that moment.

Never before had they felt so complete.

* * *

 **This ending is really terrible, I'm sorry**


End file.
